Vircanis
(#31305288)
Level 25 Wildclaw
Familiar
Rusty Golem
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.96 m
Wingspan
6.5 m
Weight
563.86 kg
Genetics
Shale
Cherub
Cherub
Charcoal
Butterfly
Butterfly
Ice
Spines
Spines
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Wildclaw
Max Level
STR
6
AGI
25
DEF
9
QCK
62
INT
105
VIT
35
MND
9
Biography
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He stood in the shards of his broken life and the weight of the bow in his hand was heavy enough to drag him down. All around him, nothing but smokes and broken mirrors and gravestones to keep him company, to remind him of the guilt. And when he tried to cry, his tears came as icy droplets of molten snow, as flakes of liquid ash. So he stopped trying. Instead he started to act. For the first time in his life. All he knew, all he had ever known in his short life, was how to be a shadow. To trail after his brother the wild and vibrant wildfire of character and talent. Whereas he was the wisp of smoke that went unnoticed. Some vital part of him - always missing, he was little more than a doll acting to his mother’s overbearing wishes. He let her smother his will and his drive, because she knew best. It wasn’t like she had no reason to act like that either, his oldest brother was little more than a blurry memory of midnight and lavender before he was gone again, a name on a slab of smooth and carved marble. The first of many to fill the graveyard within his mind, within his soul, each death left a little more numbness within him. And his mother became even more scared, overbearing, she would do anything for her children, even for the not-child. Ironically, Sycorax only drove the hurt deeper, the thorn of being incomplete in some manner, especially when compared to loud and wild Zeria. She wanted her sons, her remaining children to remain the way they were. To have them unharmed. And at the same time, she could barely shoulder the sight for which they stood, because every child needed a father to exist. The story of Tamura still an open wound that never healed over completely. Couldn’t, not with the way a constant reminder lived and breathed underneath their roof. Yet, Vircanis was grateful for the presence of the reminder, even if Vale did more harm than good in his ill placed advices and his shuffling presence, with his face grim and dark from grief and his scars so openly visible through the folds of his clothing. Talking to him was like facing the moon on a cloudy, too cold night. Blank and misguiding, even with the best of intentions in mind. Things only started to look up, when a guardian arrived, strong and filled with unbending loyalty. He didn’t even look at Vircanis, what had the boy expected? People rarely saw him, they looked at him and only saw Tamura’s shy boy, saw smoke and mirrors, a pretender. Or worse, they saw the nothingness that threatened to consume him alive. Vircanis was content with loving from afar, he knew more about Zeria’s guardian than Zeria himself, because he made the effort to remember, to listen. It didn’t matter in the end, because things never did for him. The war came and went with swift steps and in its wake, only ruination and hurt remained, there were those that claimed victory and those that claimed satisfaction of having reached their goal. Ouroboros may have won the battle, but the price was hefty. Vircanis stopped listening after that. He finally, after years of watching and waiting, found courage in the echo of the fallen, enough to go and talk to the guardian, hoping, praying that the man at least would hear his words. And his brother, who had been wounded in this blasted war, would not be there again to cut off any conversation, to ruin things like he had always done. Zeria had been wounded, something like smugness pulling at the corner of Vircanis’ mouth, because his boisterous sun of a brother finally got to feel the backlash of his arrogance. It turned into icy dread far too quickly as he could hear the roar of familiar voices, in their home, the crash of decoration broken and the crackle of magic building up. Running like he had spouted a second pair of wings, he all but flew into the nightmare unravelling, Zeria, the stump where his arm had been bloodied and bandage dishevelled, eyes aglow with rage and power and the self satisfied smirk far too wide on his face, twisting, turning it into a grimace that showed his true colors, that went far beyond the handsome facade. Vircanis felt sick as blood ran over his hands, as he rushed and tried to stop this madness, to save anything. The guardian who had protected Zeria, who was the only reason that it was only Zeria’s arm missing, laid dying and even in his last moments all he saw was Zeria, Zeria, Zeria. And yet. Yet it was Vircanis’ hand he clung to, even as his gaze broke and blood ran cold, turned black and dry, he could still feel the pressure of a dead love around his wrist and running between his fingers. Another gravestone, another one and the numbness spread like a sickening disease, contagious. And finally, it had reached the part of Vircanis that pretended so diligently to care, about his dead and gone brother, about the phantom of his father, about his mother’s suffocating care, about Zeria. And for the first time in his life, Vale’s advice to act, to not let this final insult of his brother fester and settle on his bones like mold, came just in time. The thing about Ouroboros was that the position of Master of War had turned into a deathtrap. The warriors started bets on how long the new one would last. When Vircanis claimed the mantle for himself, no one opposed him, all they cared for by now, was to have the seat filled, a warm body acting. It was a hollow victory, tasted like cold ash on the tip of his tongue. As his crying mother placed the wreath upon his head and handed him his father’s bow, all Vircanis could see was the anger in his brother’s eyes. And how he finally saw Vircanis, not his smoke and mirrors reflection, not the wisp of a person always trailing after him. But rather, Vircanis, the love sick fool. Vircanis, the damned. |
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This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Vircanis to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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